The Living Dead
by Comic Critic
Summary: Have you ever seen a dead person come back to life? Well, Sherlock certainly has and it is an experience he will never forget! One-Shot! Rated T, just in case


**This, will be a one-shot unless I feel like making more chapters. I'm busy at the moment writing a Merlin/Harry Potter…..so yeah! ENJOY!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock!**

* * *

"What did you drag me out here for?" Sherlock complained to his companion. "Because Sherlock, you've been shooting holes in the wall for the past two days and Mrs. Hudson may kill you soon." Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was true though, he was bored. He was so bored that even deducing was becoming a bit of a bore. He'd been doing it with random strangers on the street, but they either punched him in the face or threatened to call the police. Some people just weren't grateful. So, Dr. Watson decided he would take Sherlock on a surprise case. A body was found just an hour ago. Why was that so interesting though? Well, there was absolutely no damage to the body. They haven't moved it yet, haven't had time. So, John thought it would be a good thing for Sherlock to check out.

It all sounded absolutely dull to him though. Most likely a poison that couldn't be detected or something like that. Easy stuff, you know?

They reached the site, you could tell by the surrounding police tape and an annoyed looking Sally Donovan. She looked towards them and didn't even question. They were on almost every crime scene nowadays. Nothing big has ever comes up though. Just the everyday affair, robbery and often murders. Why was this one so different though? Even with no physical sight of the wounds, it's no reason to be all excited.

Donovan lifted up the tape for them to cross and she threw over her shoulder a greeting of, "Hello Freak." Sherlock didn't even acknowledge her greeting. He was heading toward the body. They were in a remote field, somewhere not many people go. A dirt road lead to a main road and then straight to London. It was a healthy place to hide a body, no one would notice anything behind the tall weeds. Who found the body though? Lestrade could answer. Here was the aging man now! "Ah, Gavin-"

"Greg" John corrected. "Yes, Greg. What have you here to waste more of my precious time?" Lestrade scoffed and answered, "Watson tells me you have time to spare. Moving away from that though. The body was found by a hitchhiker. He said that he thought she was a drunk passed out because of the lack of physical evidence of any wounds. We just finished checking the area for weapons or anything that could explain this-"

"But there was none obviously. If there is no physical signs then there are no weapons. Show me the body" Sherlock answered impatiently. Lestrade rolled his eyes and lead the two through the weeds to the body. They finally reached it and the investigators moved away from the body. Thank heavens Anderson wasn't there. Sherlock took a breath and noticed something strange. No smell of death. Could be masked by the weeds, but no... The body is dead though. Defiantly dead. Sherlock looked over the weeds and finally set eyes on the body. A small woman, precisely five feet four inches tall. Her hair looked to be almost waist length, wildly curly and a dark brown. Her skin was pale, obviously. Her eyes were still open, a dark brown, almost black color to them. Her nose was small, but a perfect size for her face. Freckles dusted her features and he looked into details. Her eyebrows weren't done and she wore no make up. Her lips were chapped, cold weather, not dehydration.

A scar ran from above her eyebrow to curl around her face and rest above her collarbone which was exposed from wearing a normal blue T-shirt that had no rips or stains besides mud. It had rained the night before, her clothes were damp, she had been there a while. She did wear a sweater though. It was too big for her, looked to be from a friend, not a loved one though. It didn't look to be cherished, just something quickly barrowed. She looked a bit malnourished, almost sickly thin. He looked back up her neck and found another scar, one that looked like a knife being held to her throat. What was that for? Held hostage for something? Most likely. He looked down further and reached her jeans. Perfectly kept, but loose. She lost weight most likely. He did notice, however that everything she wore was out of date. Nothing was modern style. The T-shirt he could tell, but the jeans. The pockets opened and the stitching was different. That could be anything though. He could never tell with fashion.

Maybe she was anorexic with her weight loss? No, or an illness? He searched his memory and could see no evidence of a sickness that could be seen at the moment. An autopsy would be helpful. It would be very helpful. Shoes! People put on shoes to accommodate their destination, so what climate was she hoping for? He looked down and was baffled to find that she wasn't wearing any. Her feet were rough and dirty, looked as if she hadn't put any on from anywhere, just came out barefoot. Her toenails weren't painted and neither were her fingernails. She did however have ink stains on the tips of her fingers. He looked closer to her left hand which was sprawled out beside her. He took a closer look, but didn't touch the body. He grabbed out his magnifying glass and took a closer look at her hand. Strange. There was dried blood under her fingernails, but no blood was on the ground or the rest of her body. He took away the magnifying glass and was about to move on when he did a double take.

The hand. He could see what looked to be, words? Yes, the ending of a phrase. He slowly grabbed her hand and turned it over. The letters read in morbid handwriting, "I will obey my superiors." What could that possibly mean? Someone felt as if she was beneath them, but why? It sounded as an act of racism. People showing superiority through traumatizing reminders because she made them feel...inferior. So, she kicked the system and it bit her in the back? Made sense, but there was nothing like that nowadays. Well, any things a possibility. John had been trying to get his attention for sometime. It surely had only taken him, a few moment though? Odd. He moved away from the body, but the most unexpected thing happened.

The hand he was just examining, grabbed his and pulled him back jerkily. He heard some people around him scream and did he hear John pulling a gun? Or was that Lestrade? He looked down at her face and saw the most intense curiosity in her eyes. She was analyzing him. That was indeed what she was doing.

She awoke when she felt the touch on her hand pull away. When her eyes opened, she was greeted with stunning eyes. Almost a murky greenish blue, surrounded by the darker color. He was shocked that she was alive, but she was too. She knew she was dead, but how can someone be aware they were dead. Her mind was racing and she took no notice of people panicking around her and the obvious gun pointed at her. Theories, equations, books and all sorts popped up, but nothing. She looked into the eyes of the man she had a death grip on and and he stayed still. Peculiar. He was a man of curiosity and was by no means ordinary. He had no badge for inspecting or police or anything really. His skin was pale and face cleanly shaven, but his jet black hair, full if smooth wavy curls was greasy. He shaved, but didn't shower very often.

He was thinking a lot and felt daily formalities such as that was distracting. Going by his thin state and trying to fill up bulk with a thick coat. He wore scarf, well used and many stains that all told stories, he wore the scarf a lot. The coat though. The coat was well taken care of. He loved it dearly, but she suspected he had more. He wore nice clothes under it. He dressed to impress? No. It's just his style? Than what is the cause of such nice clothing for a man that didn't care what anyone thought? Wait a second though. She looked back into his eyes and she noticed her watching him. He cared what people thought of him, but not that much. He made enough of an impression to fool people into thinking he was not completely uncaring, but they still thought so. Which was exactly his point. His shoes were shined, but muddy from the ground. She looked back at his face. Still calm. No worry lines and his eyes were glued to hers. She opened her mouth and he moved back a bit.

She shut her mouth and looked around people were staring. The man she guessed was the Lestrade, man in charge by the way people spoke to him, was holding a gun to her. She looked to the man next to him and stopped on that man. He was the only one, besides the man still staring at her, not wearing a uniform of some sort like the rest of the lot. His hair was cut short, but he was used to it shorter. How could she tell? She didn't know. It came from all her other conclusions. He held himself tall and proud, ready to strike at any moment. Like a soldier. His eyes were weary and sad, but still excited in a sense. He craved excitement like an addict craved drugs. He lived off of the excitement. So, an Army man? Yes! Not a fighter though. No, he would look more haunted than that, but he's still seen some things. His hands were strong, but delegate? He worked with his hand and was in the Army... Doctor! Must be an Army Doctor. His right shoulder was different. An old wound maybe? That wouldn't make sense since it looked like he favored one leg to the other, but no wound was there? It looked like the leftover of a limp. How was that possible? Well, she wouldn't know if it were anything too modern. She wasn't completely up to date. He wore nothing special. Not even a stain to go by. How much time had she wasted!? Only a moment. She was calm now though. Well, calm as could be when you were dead, but not dead. She looked back to the man above her, waiting patiently.

Sherlock was sure she had just analyze everyone in the vicinity, but she took extra time on John and himself? Made sense. They were the odd ones out. She looked up at him with her dark eyes and whispered, "I was dead." He slowly nodded. "Seems you weren't." She shook her head and whispered, "no, no, no my heart stopped and I had no pulse. I had been here for hours! Simply waiting, but I was dead? How can one be conscious in death?" He didn't even begin to think about it before she let go of his hand and looked at him again. "Please help me up out of this muddy grave." He nodded and grabbed her hand and pulled her up. She looked around at everyone and rolled her eyes. They were all staring. She hated staring. "Well then? Shoo! I'm not dead! I don't need your gang of nerds so call off the science convention!" Lestrade snapped out of his dumbfounded state and dismissed absolutely everyone. She stepped away from Sherlock and shakily wandered around. He had noticed that. She was twitching and shaking, but seemed to take no notice of it. What could that be about? PTSD? That would be the obvious conclusion. She walked around where she was lying and kept searching. "What are you looking for?" John asked. "A stick." Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and asked, "a stick?"

"That is what I said, yes." She looked around further and finally bent down and pocketed something. Looked to be the stick, but no. It was solid, carved, and special to her. She looked back up to Sherlock and said, "it's carved, very magical indeed. I carry it with me everywhere." He nodded and turned to John who was watching silently. John was absolutely baffled and a bit frightened to be honest. She walked back to Sherlock and held out her shaky hand and he shook it. "Hermione Granger." He analyzed that name while replying, "Sherlock Holmes."

She let go of his hand and held it out to John. "Nice to meet you, Doctor." He didn't shake her hand at first. His eyes just widened and he gave her a strange look. Actually, they all were. Even Sherlock. "What?" She asked confusedly. "How did you know I was a doctor?" She looked back to Sherlock and them to John. "It was sort of obvious if you just opened your eyes and observed." With that sentence, John seemed to break. Just shut down and he whispered amazed, "not another one." Hermione looked to Sherlock and understood. Sherlock understood how to observe people as well, but guessing by Johns reaction. He like to show off his skills. She filed that away in the new file in her mind she had created for the Sherlock Holmes.

"Fine, don't tell me your name. He's Lestrade and that's Sherlock so you must be... John." She knew she hit the answer straight on when the man's jaw dropped. Truth is, she didn't know his name at all. That was just a lucky guess. John was a common name and he looked like a John. It was neat guess work. "How did you know that?" It wasn't her that answered, but Sherlock. "She guessed." She pouted a bit and replied sadly, "I wanted them to believe I was an all knowing power! That would be fun to toy around with." Sherlock smirked and everyone just sort of sat in awkward silence. Hermione started twitching more. More than usual. She looked to them all and said in a shaky voice, "I think I'm going to need the hospital. The shakes are coming back and I don't feel like dying again." She started to lose her balance as she was almost to seizure level. Sherlock caught her and picked her up. He started to speed walk to the road and called back to Lestrade and John who were following closely behind, "ambulance still here?" Lestrade shouted back an affirmative and Sherlock sprinted to the ambulance. The paramedics jumped up and took hold of the situation. Soon, Sherlock and John and another doctor were riding in the back while Lestrade followed in his car. Hermione wouldn't release Sherlock's hand and the doctor was doing all the procedures. He could hear Hermione chanting, "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" her shaking and twitching was extreme and she managed to get out, "does- an, anyone, ha-have el-le-le-electronics?" They all nodded and she groaned. "Bee-ee ready t-to pay for n-new o, ones" she forced out. After she finished her sentence, every device flickered and went haywire. "Can't, c-can't. Ouch. Damn it! E-vvveryone places, p-people. Things, phones. Heart. Mon-n-nitor. Merlin shit j-just stop!"

She yelled the final word and her body stopped moving. It seemed as if time itself obeyed her command. She closed her eyes and saw the pain. The curse that spread. She pushed it into the door on the right to be disintegrated and burned. She opened her eyes again and everything moved once more. It was all in her head though. Everything was still going while she was pushing away the curse. She looked down to her left arm and saw the blood. The twitching and minor shakes continued, but that was normal. "Mother of Merlin!" She lifted up her shaky arm and lifted the sleeve to reveal the bloody carved words. She could hear gasps around the room, but she was too focused. "It's going to bleed for weeks, damn it!" She looked at the two doctors and scoffed. "Doctors my ass! Wrap it up geniuses." Neither of them moved, but Sherlock did. He grabbed bandages and began to expertly wrap. He whispered to her, "what happened?" She whispered back with no amount of sadness, "torture." She wasn't lying. Torture would explain the PTSD, the shakes and twitches, the scars and other things. It looked to be all to get information. That's what torturers did. They tried to break the spirit, but it looked like she didn't break. Not even a bit.

They were reaching the hospital and Hermione was calming down the shakes seemed to be down to her natural state and the twitches were gone completely. Were those only when high emotions arose? Fear, anxiety, or anything really. She seemed to be expertly taking control of the situation. That meant she had been dealing with everything for a while. It also meant that she was used to being a leader. Not afraid to tell it straight and get things done, admirable quality. She took control of situations and made sure everything was right. Well, that was the impression he got anyways. The ambulance stopped at the hospital and Hermione was whisked away with a look of annoyance. She did say goodbye to the two and then Sherlock and John were left alone standing in front of the hospital. John cleared his throat and said, "well, I guess that was an interesting case." Sherlock looked at John confused and asked "was? The case is still continuing! This is marvelous. A dead girl that was aware of being dead and now living and breathing. You're also not remembering how she asked if we had electronics and when she started to get really shook up, they went haywire! There's something happening and I want to find out."

"You can't do that Sherlock! She has her or life and won't be letting you watch her all day so you can study her."

"She would if she didn't have a life..."

"What?"

"We need to find out her address."

"What do you mean 'we' if I want no part in this."

"Why on earth wouldn't you!"

"Because..."

"See, you only like disagreeing with me!"

"I do not! Sherlock, you're being childish!"

"You say that twice a day John! I'm doing this with or without you and either way, we both know you'll be included."

John sighed and said with sarcastic excitement, "let's go stalk a girl!" Sherlock patted him on the back and said with a smile, "that's the spirit!"


End file.
